


just because you’re drowsy doesn’t mean you can sleep

by hejustkeptonyoing



Category: Epithet Erased (Cartoon), my ass (my ass)
Genre: Angst, Gen, PTSD, Panic Attacks, da sylvie kinnies projecting tonite, inspired by every single fic that acknowledges sylvies trauma thank you so fucking much, my two works: sylvie angst and kokichi microwaving an egg, not betad because it’s 2:45 in the morning and it would be rude to wake her up, takes place after the events of the museum arc, the two genders 💫, when? idk im thinking miku miku ooo wee oo, xoxo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hejustkeptonyoing/pseuds/hejustkeptonyoing
Summary: Doctor Sylvester Ashling, a therapist at the respectable age of 15, did not have any ounce of trauma in his bones. Nope. He didn’t get any from his childhood (why would he? All it did was teach him to be self sustained, and that was a valuable, completely necessary lesson) and he didn’t get any from Mera. He’sfine.(Sylvie ignores the chill that runs down his spine and causes him to shake at her name.)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 50





	just because you’re drowsy doesn’t mean you can sleep

**Author's Note:**

> ring ding ding daa baa  
> baa aramba baa bom baa barooumba wh wh what’s going on on 
> 
> this is my second fic on the platform and was written at 2:30 in the morning after i found the beginning of it in the notes app on my phone just sitting there unfinished 💫 the ee commenter becomes the author the turns have tabled

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The soft sound of the sheep shaped clock served as the background music for a young lads nightly “gee isn’t it a swell time to think about how bad you are at everything” trip down the water slide of hell. Or as the young lad in question, Sylvester Ashling, would call it if brought up by a client during one of his therapy sessions, a mental breakdown.

Not that he’d ever admit he was having one. (Not even as his knuckles turned white from gripping the sheets and eyes strained from counting the glowing stars on the ceiling in an attempt to distract himself.) No, he was completely fine. He was a therapist after all- He would know. Sylvie was simply... not tired. Mhm. That’s all.

The darkness of the room made him shiver as he pulled the blankets around closer, sniffling quietly. Ever since the night of the museum, the inky blackness of the unlit room had made him realize just how small (vulnerable) he was. And how big (fragile) the windows where. And how easily the door could be opened or broken (and she would be there, and she would take his epithet)

Sylvie takes a moment to reminded himself that she’s in jail as he curls into his nest of blankets. He shouldn’t be thinking about this weeks after the museum incident, weeks after getting out of the hospital for his broken bones (because of her, her, his epithet had been stolen and he could do nothing)

He swore under his breath. Some therapist he was, not even able to talk him out of his own downward spiral. Not that Sylvie was having a downward spiral or anything. A bad thought about a (traumatic) upsetting event (every night, every time the lights are dimmed, and Sylvie can never be warm enough to stop the phantom chill from running up his body, and she’s grabbed him and he can’t breathe and it’s cold it’s cold it’s cold it’s cold it’s) once and awhile wasn’t to be unexpected. Sylvie doesn’t have trauma or anything like that, no, that would be almost laughable. 

Sylvie stops anxiously tugging at his hair(? When did he start doing that) and pauses. _Does _he have...? No. He dismisses the thought quicker than a narcissistic father crushes his child’s hopes and dreams. Doctor Sylvester Ashling, a therapist at the respectable age of 15, did not have any ounce of trauma in his bones. Nope. He didn’t get any from his childhood (why would he? All it did was teach him to be self sustained, and that was a valuable, completely necessary lesson) and he didn’t get any from Mera. He’s _fine. _____

____(Sylvie ignores the chill that runs down his spine and causes him to shake at her name.)_ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> sylvie, trying to sleep:  
> his trauma: hiiiiiiii luv 💫😺 so i couldn’t help but notice you have 10 toes 😼 AND you’re a gamer 😻


End file.
